


Perfect Stranger

by swampistan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, amateur smut, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampistan/pseuds/swampistan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma is living a wonderful life, about to be married to her (who she thought) her true love, Walsh, but a perfect stranger makes his way into her life, turning everything up-side-down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Stranger

It was just another day at the office. Emma Swan was at her computer, scrolling through wedding pictures on Pintrest, looking for decoration ideas for her and her fiancée, Walsh’s, wedding. He had just proposed to her a week ago, taking her out to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in New York City, Seafood Serenade. The ring had been brought out with her dessert, set atop the whipped cream that topped her ice cream sundae. She was more than delighted to see the beautiful stone, glistening there against the soft white of the cream. When he had gotten down on his knee, she couldn’t contain her excitement, saying “Yes!” even before he popped the question.  
Now she was here at her desk, lazily scrolling through pictures while the boss wasn’t looking, seeing nothing that looked like good wedding venues. There were pictures of people at theme parks, Vegas, and even an old country store. Nothing piqued her interest, and she found her eyes beginning to get droopy, with the clock reading 8:45 PM. She normally stayed at work this late, watching the sun set over the city’s numerous skyscrapers. As her mind began to wander, thinking about her warm bed, laying next to Walsh with his arm draped over her; one of the images on the computer screen caught her eye. The crisp blueness of the ocean shone brightly, with the white sand as smooth as glass, seemingly large and vast compared to the couple in the center of the shot.  
The woman was petite, dark hair blowing in the sea breeze. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, in Emma’s opinion, but still pretty. But the man made her heart skip a beat. His cerulean eyes were what she first noticed, staring back at her with the intensity of a military officer; his jaw line set determinedly, stubble carefully trimmed to match the natural curvature of his face. His broad shoulders and lean body cast a long, dark shadow across the sand, as if he was forever haunted by a darkness.  
Emma found herself wondering who this man was, wanting to learn his story. But she shook herself, telling herself that they would never meet, and he was probably living somewhere down by the beach in Florida with his somewhat pretty wife.

\---

Emma checked her watch as she walked briskly down the street to her car. 9:45 PM. The early autumn air nipped at her nose and ears, chilling her to the bone. Leaves were starting to fall from the maples that lined the sidewalks, flittering across the ground as the breeze drifted between the skyscrapers. As she hurried along, Emma couldn’t help but think about the man in the picture. She knew she had never seen him before, but he somehow still seemed familiar.   
Her mind switched to Henry then. She had left him at a friend’s house, so she was looking forward to a night by herself. She sent him a quick text, “Going home. See you tomorrow.” Her heels echoed on the concrete floor of the car garage as she approached her Volkswagen Bug. She noticed a slip of paper on her windshield: “Old Car Repairman”. Emma knew her car was near the end of its life, but she just rolled her eyes at the fact that her car looked old enough to warrant someone giving her this notice. Sure, the paint was chipped and it was an older model, but it didn’t need any repair work done on it. She tossed the paper into her passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition. The Bug fired right up, and Emma smiled smugly to herself. See, it runs like new, she thought.  
A few minutes later, Emma found herself on the side of the road, steam rising from her hood. “Damn it!” she cursed herself. As she popped the hood, hot steam slammed into her face, making her gasp at the shock of the heat. She began to sweat despite the cool night as she looked around her car’s engine, trying to figure out what was wrong. Just as she saw that the level of her coolant was low, a pair of headlight beams blinded her as they pulled up beside her. A smooth, British accent floated out of the car into the night air, “You okay, miss?”  
As Emma watched, a tall figure climbed out of the driver’s side and strolled over to where she was standing. She couldn’t believe it. It was the man from the Pinterest picture. The guy on the beach with the somewhat pretty wife. He was clad in a pair of tight-fitting dark jeans, a black waistcoat, a v-neck shirt, and a black leather jacket. His eyes shone bright blue against his tan face. His hair was tousled and his stubble was starting to grow into a full beard. Emma couldn’t help but gawk at him, thinking about how the chances of meeting this guy had been slim to none, but he was here. Now. Asking her if she was okay. She couldn’t believe it.  
“Uh, yes. I’m just low on coolant, that’s all. But thanks for checking.” Emma avoided his piercing gaze; they seemed to be reading her like a book, taking in her appearance, seeing every flaw, and breaking down the walls she had so carefully built up.  
“Okay. Are you sure that’s all? Sometimes there can be more than one issue. May I?” He gestured toward her car. She numbly nodded, still in shock. As he looked around under her hood, she noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his left hand. Interesting, she thought. Following a fuel line to the passenger’s side of the vehicle, he moved closer to Emma. As he moved toward her, she caught a whiff of his cologne. It smelled of the sea, but not like New York Harbor, which smelled like exhaust and the garbage that floated in it. This smelled like the clean ocean, salty and less pungent, with the smell of ocean spray and seaweed.  
Then he suddenly turned to her, his blue eyes flashing, “Everything else looks fine. I have some coolant in my truck. Free of charge.”  
Emma was about to ask why he had coolant in is truck, but stopped herself when she noticed the truck’s logo: Old Car Repairman. So it had been him who had stuck that on her Bug, she thought.  
“Um, sure. Please.”  
Then he flashed her a smile that made her knees almost give out. Holy shit. This guy was a gift from heaven. Snap out of it, Emma, she told herself. You’re engaged.  
The man returned with a bottle of coolant and set it on her fender. “We should wait a few minutes to let your car cool down before we add the coolant,” he said.  
“Oh, okay.” Emma continued to avoid his gaze as she stood awkwardly next to him, smelling his cologne whenever the wind shifted.  
“Name’s Killian.” He held out his hand for her to shake, the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. She took it carefully, half of her telling not to trust him, but the other half telling her to give him a chance. His hand was rough but warm, and seemed to fit in her hand like two puzzle pieces fit together to make a picture. His eyes locked onto to hers and they stood there for a moment. Time seemed to stop as they stood there holding hands. His blue eyes gazed into hers, once again reading her like a book; her green eyes gazing back, trying to see what was behind the blue orbs.  
Emma stood there breathless, until she finally realized that Killian was waiting for her to give her name.  
“Oh. I’m Emma. Emma Swan.”  
“Swan.” He said as he released her hand. Oh, how she missed the warmth of his touch; how she wanted to take his hand back in hers and hold it forever. Stop it, she chided herself.  
“The engine should be cool enough now,” Killian said, turning to pour the coolant into the specified container. Emma caught herself staring at his butt. She quickly snapped her eyes up to his profile, but found that she couldn’t focus on that without feeling jittery inside, so she resorted to staring at the ground. Killian finished pouring the coolant and turned back to her, “That should do it,” he said, returning the bottle to his truck. “But it’ll have to cost you.”  
“But you said you’d do it at no charge!” Emma replied, angry that she had trusted him. She was so used to people she trusted turning their backs on her that the fact that he lied shouldn’t have hurt. But it did. She started to cuss him out, but caught herself when she saw his smirk.  
“What?! What’s so funny?” she demanded. He didn’t reply and just started to chuckle. “Nothing.” He said. “I did say free of charge, but magic like this still comes with a price. Since I helped you with your car, you have to do something for me.”  
“And what is that, exactly?” Emma said cautiously. She wasn’t used to games like this.  
“Join me for lunch.”  
Emma just stood there, flabbergasted that this man, this beautiful man who should be married right now and living in Florida, is asking her out on a DATE.  
“Er, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to decline. I’m engaged.” And she showed him her ring, which glittered brightly in the Bug’s headlights.  
“Oh. I didn’t notice. My apologies, miss.” He turned to go, shoulders hunched and head drooping in despair.  
“Wait!” Emma couldn’t believe she was doing this. “Wait. I’ll join you for lunch. But just as long as you don’t try anything fishy.” She felt like she could trust him; even if he was a pirate and she was a lost princess, she felt like he would take her home without any shenanigans.  
“Alright, noon on Thursday? At Jumbo’s Pizzeria?” he said with a chuckle.  
“Sure. Sounds great.”  
He flashed her a smile before turning to get in his car and driving off.  
She remained there a few minutes more, butterflies in her stomach and light in her heart.

\---

She was late. Emma Swan was never late. But today she was. Somehow Henry had gotten the “Peter Pan” VHS tape stuck in the player and they had spent over an hour trying to get the wretched thing out.  
“Why can’t you just watch this on a regular DVD? Then we wouldn’t have had to deal with this mess!” Emma had complained. Henry had replied with “Watching a VHS makes the movie feel more authentic.” Emma had just rolled her eyes and huffed as she went to go dress for lunch with Killian.  
And now she was late for a date, no it was NOT a date, with the most handsome man she had ever seen. The thought of standing him up and not even going crossed her mind more than once, but she pushed that thought away, chiding herself. It would be terrible, she thought, you’re not that kind of person to let down a complete stranger.  
As she rounded the corner to Jumbo’s Pizzeria, huffing and puffing from walking so fast, she caught sight of jet black hair framing beautiful blue eyes, shining with mirth as they found her face on the crowded street. Emma felt her face turn red as her eyes locked with his, each boring into the other’s soul, searching for something; she knew not what. He rose to greet her, his cologne hitting her like a soft sea breeze. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, inhaling his scent, imagining them both together on that Florida beach, her hair being tossed in the wind, his arms encircling her waist, them gazing out into the sunset… She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with a lopsided smile and a cocked eyebrow, a question in his eyes. She blushed even harder, looking down to shake his outstretched hand before letting him pull her chair out so she could sit.  
“Beautiful day isn’t it?” Killian asked, tracing his gaze across the sky, taking in the clouds and blue sky, and finally her face, studying it with playful scrutiny.  
“Yes. Yes it is.” Emma replied, suddenly shy because she didn’t know why the hell she had agreed to this and what to say to this godsend that she had just met. For all she knew, they had nothing in common.  
“So what do you do for a living?” Killian inquired, studying her face. As he said this, he unfolded his arms and leaned back, splaying his legs and resting his hands on either leg. Emma couldn’t help but smirk at this man’s comfortability; she would’ve done the same if she wasn’t wearing a dress.  
For some reason, she thought that wearing a dress to this date that was not a date was a good idea. It was a dark red wool dress, with three-quarter sleeves and small speckles of white. She had black leggings under the dress with a pair of black high-heeled boots. It was just thick enough to protect her from the crisp autumn chill. But since she couldn’t copy Killian’s posture, she settled for crossing her legs and setting her hands in her lap.  
“I am a bail bonds-woman.” She replied cautiously. In the past, on dates, whenever she had mentioned her profession, the guy she was seeing would turn squirrelly and never call her again. It was only until she met Walsh that she was afraid to tell any love interests what she did. For some reason he had found it interesting, and asked her to tell the tales of her career. And now she was waiting for Killian’s reaction, on the edge of her seat because only God knows why.  
She watched as he turned the term over in his head, chewing his lip thoughtfully. His blue eyes studied her green ones, seeing her fear, her fear of rejection. While taking this in, he straightened in his chair and gave a soft chuckle. Emma raised her eyebrow at the sound.  
“I’ve never met a bail bonds-woman before. I’ve had my share of brigs, being a Prisoner-of-War and all, but never met the likes of you before.” He said it so casually, Emma almost missed the “Prisoner-of-War” part. That explained the hardened expression in the photograph.  
“You – you were a P.O.W.?” She blurted out. She felt like she should do something for this man, like salute him or buy his lunch or yell to everyone around them “Hey, this guy’s a POW, we should give him some respect!” But she could see in his eyes that he knew what she was thinking. He softly nodded his head and muttered a quiet, “Yes.”  
Emma sat agape, wondering what this man must’ve gone through, wanting to ask so many questions, but not wanting to pry. He was clearly struggling internally, his face contorting between a smile and a grimace. She watched as his expression turned pained, like a rush of unpleasant memories had suddenly come forth and bombarded his conscious.   
He began to rise, making to leave the restaurant before all he could see were the bitter memories: the memories of his brother, poisoned, dying in his arms; other people’s blood covering every inch of his skin; the torture chambers; so much death. He thought he could handle telling her about being a POW, he thought he could tell her anything, he thought therapy had been successful. But he thought wrong. This woman had somehow brought these memories back at full force. Visions swarmed before his eyes, blinding him as he stumbled through the restaurant, trying to get to the door and grab the nearest cab.  
“Killian, wait!” Emma yelled. She rushed after him, dodging waiters with trays of food; but he was already out the front door. By the time she got outside, the cold air blasting her face, he was gone.

\---

Emma sat in her apartment, staring stone-faced at the wall, wondering what went wrong. Her phone began to ring, chirping a basic imitation of Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” as the screen lit up with HIS name on it. Shocked, she almost dropped her phone while trying to answer it.  
“He-hello?” She stammered, excited and confused that he was calling her now, so soon after the incident at the restaurant.  
“Yes, is this Emma Swan?” a strange voice asked. The voice was deep and concerned, causing Emma to frown. “This is she,” she replied. “Who is this? You’re not Killian. Is he okay? Why are you calling me?”  
“Ma’am,” said the voice, “This is the police. Mr. Jones is in the hospital, suffering from injuries related to a car accident. Your number was the first one in his emergency contacts. In fact, it was the only number in his contacts.”  
The phone dropped from her hand, with the distant sound of the officer’s voice saying, “Ma’am? Ma’am, you still there?” She couldn’t understand. He didn’t have any other phone numbers besides hers. Wouldn’t a likeable guy like him have more than just one phone number? When did the accident happen? Right after he left? And why did she feel like she should’ve done something to prevent it? So many questions swam through her mind. Out of impulse, before she even knew what she was doing, she grabbed her coat and car keys, and headed out the door to go to the hospital.

\---

Room 300. As soon as Emma had arrived at the hospital that was the first thing she had asked for. She didn’t know why she cared for a man, a stranger, this much, but she somehow felt responsible for his condition.  
The elevator ride to the 3rd floor seemed like an eternity, a ride she took alone, with the silence pressing on her, drowning her in its sorrow for all the unlucky souls who had passed through or passed on in this building of pain.  
When the doors finally dinged open, Emma stepped out cautiously, peering around for his room number. She spotted it to her left, hidden in the shadow cast by it being a corner room, secluded from the other hospital rooms. She crept toward it, looking through the room’s window as her hand hovered over the door handle. She hesitated as she watched him lie there. His face was covered in scrapes, his arms bandaged to the elbows. His right side was facing her, his head tilted toward the door as if he was expecting someone, anyone, to walk through the door. She assumed he had been waiting quite a while, because he was fast asleep, a small trail of drool starting to pool on his hospital gown. She couldn’t help but smile at the peacefulness he had on his face, despite the pain he must be feeling. A gentle hand on her shoulder made her jump. Turning, she faced a policeman; about the same age as she, but a newlywed, judging by how he kept twisting the gold band about his finger, learning the feel of its weight.  
“Ms. Swan? I’m Officer David Nolan. I was the one who called you about Mr. Jones. Would you mind telling me your relationship to him?”  
“Oh, yes. No, I don’t mind at all. I had only just met him actually. My car had broken down and he helped me get it started up again. We went out for lunch today, but he left suddenly and that was the last time I saw him.” She threw a concerned glance towards the sleeping man on the bed, hoping he wouldn’t wake up right now to see her here talking to an officer. She didn’t want him getting any bad ideas.  
“Really?” Officer Nolan asked. “Did you realize you were the only number in his contacts?”  
“No, sir. I did not,” she replied, still watching Killian.  
“Interesting,” the officer said, more to himself than to her. He slowly drifted away, making notes on his notepad, leaving her alone to open the door and step inside.  
As the door closed behind her with a click, the sound of soft snoring filled the small room. She quietly pulled a chair up to his bedside, watching to make sure she didn’t wake him. Now that she was closer, she could see where shards of glass had cut his tan skin, leaving small trails of blood across his face and neck. Her eyes traced the curve of his body, taking note of every scrape and bruise that covered his arms. When her eyes reached his left hand, or rather where his left hand should have been, she gasped. All that was there was a bloody bandage covering a stub. Emma had to keep herself from running to the bathroom and emptying her stomach contents down the toilet. What kind of an accident was he in? she wondered. She slowly got up and slipped out of the room. The police officer was nowhere to be seen, but a nurse was behind the help desk in the center of the floor.  
“Excuse me, could you tell me what kind of an accident this man was in?” Emma politely asked the nurse, motioning toward the corner room.  
“A hit and run. He ran out in front of a car, it hit him, he rolled off the hood onto the ground, and the car sped away. Some passerby found him propped against a wall in an alley near where it happened. The doctors had to amputate his left hand because the bones were shattered. There was no way to save the hand.”  
“Can you tell me where they found him?” Emma’s eyes were beginning to water and she blinked to keep the tears from flowing.  
“About a block from Jumbo’s Pizzeria.”  
“Thank you.” Emma stumbled back into one of the waiting area chairs. She stared at the floor in disbelief. Tears began to flow as she realized her error. She shouldn’t have made it a big deal about him being a P.O.W.; then he wouldn’t have run off and gotten hit. She felt like this accident was her fault. Like she had caused him to get hit. Sobs shook her body as she sat there, feeling guilty for everything that had happened. It was her fault that they had met; her fault that they had gone to lunch in the first place; her fault that he had run. The nurse brought her a box of tissues, patting her on the back gently before returning to the desk. From where she sat, Emma couldn’t see much of Killian, just his feet covered by the bed sheet. She didn’t have to courage to walk into his room, but she made herself do it anyway. After wiping her tears and blowing her nose, she sat down next to him and took his hand. “It’ll be okay,” she said, unsure if it was directed at Killian, herself, or both of them. She slowly drifted off to sleep, hand resting in his.

\---

It was midmorning when Emma woke to the sound of bustling hospital staff, a blanket draped over her, and a cup of coffee on the nightstand next to her.  
“Good morning, beautiful,” the familiar British accent lilted. Emma lifted her eyes to Killian’s smirking face. She looked down to find her hand still clasped in his. For some reason it felt right, and she didn’t want to let go, so she didn’t.  
“Good morning,” she replied with a smile. She could feel where the tears had stained her cheeks, but she didn’t care. He seemed like he would be OK, even though he had lost a hand.  
“They’ve got me pumped full of pain meds, so I’ll be a little off-kilter for the next few hours,” he chuckled, watching as he gently moved their entwined hands to look at Emma’s ring. “How’d he ask?”  
Emma’s smile faltered; thankfully he was still looking at her ring and not her face. “He – he proposed over dinner. They brought out the ring in the dessert.”  
“Ah. The proposal-over-dinner method. I chose something a little more classy,” he chuckled, a playful gleam in his eye.  
“Oh really?” Emma said, a challenging tone in her voice. “Pray tell, Mr. Classy, how did you propose?”  
“Well, she was a woman of character; you could say she would’ve been a fit for a pirate’s wife. In fact, she loved pirates and their history; she had studied them in college. At the time, we had lived in Florida, down in the Keys, close to several shipwrecks. She had dived those wrecks hundreds of times, searching for treasure and any other clues to a pirate’s life. But I had decided to take her to a new shipwreck that had been recently discovered, near the mouth of a river. The water was as clear as glass, unmoving under the summer sun. Once we got to the wreck, I led her to a piece of the wreck that I had scoped out a week earlier. Jewels ranging from rubies to emeralds to gold necklaces decorated the floor of the captain’s quarters, gleaming in the water-filtered sunlight. I told her to wait where she was and swam down to the mass of treasure to pluck a particular piece of jewelry from the wreck. It was a small gold band, set with an even smaller stone of diamond. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers when I assumed a floating kneeling position. We were so happy after that…” His voice trailed off, tears misting up his eyes. Emma sat stunned. She didn’t know how to react. She searched his face as she sat there, wondering what had happened to induce this reaction from her.  
“What happened to her?” She asked softly, almost inaudible in the quiet hospital room. He was clearly a wounded man, not only psychologically from PTSD, but wounded in the heart too. He raised his eyes to meet hers, and all she could see was the pain from a broken heart, the pain from the fear of never being able to love again, the pain she saw when she looked in the mirror.  
“She died.” Killian replied in an equally quiet voice. “It was a tragic accident. She… she…” His voice caught in his throat.  
“Killian, you don’t have to tell me. It’s OK.” Emma squeezed his hand tightly, hoping to reassure him.  
“Yes, I do. I need to. And I feel like I can. I feel like I can trust you.” His eyes were locked on hers as he took a deep breath. “She was diving a deep wreck in the Caribbean during a storm, it was more like a bloody hurricane, and didn’t take time to decompress properly. When she got to the surface, the nitrogen bubbles formed in her bloodstream and she had a heart attack. Her name was Milah.”  
It wasn’t until he had finished speaking that Emma realized tears were rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t know why she was crying, only that she knew his heartbreak. Her first love, Neal, had been killed in the crossfire of a robbery. The police still hadn’t found the shooter.  
Suddenly the door to the room opened and a nurse stuck her head in.  
“Mr. Jones, the doctor has decided to keep you here for another night for observation. You will be released tomorrow morning.”  
“Thank you, ma’am,” Killian replied, waiting for the door to close before turning back to Emma. “You hear that!” He said with a grin. “I’ll be out of this wretched place tomorrow!” He looked at Emma with the playful light returned to his eyes. “Looks like we’re back on track, love,” he said, letting go of her hand to wipe her tears from her face with his knuckle. She couldn’t help but smile at the tender gesture.

\---

Emma was waiting outside, staring at her reflection in the automatic glass doors at the entrance to the hospital. The butterflies in her stomach had started the minute she had woken up this morning. Before she had left him yesterday, he made her promise to take him home the next day. She had playfully rolled her eyes and acted like he was a nuisance, but still agreed.  
Now she was standing here, waiting on the epitome of a perfect human being to walk out those doors. She was a little nervous because she had avoided Walsh’s questions of her whereabouts and he didn’t seem too pleased with the fact that she was spending time with another “man-friend” she had just met. She had told him not to worry and that she and Killian were “just friends”, but Walsh still seemed skeptical. She was beginning to wonder what time Killian was going to be “released from this brig of a hospital”, as he liked to call it. As she glanced down at her watch, the glass doors slid open almost dramatically, giving Killian a proper exit as he strode out with the air of a man who was coming home from a long trip overseas. Before Emma could even react, he picked her up by the waist, twirled her around, and planted a huge kiss on her cheek. She stood there, her knees about to buckle from the rush of emotion that had surged through her at his touch.  
“They must’ve given you more pain meds,” she joked, eyeing him cautiously but with a smirk on her face.  
“Only a little,” Killian cried, scaring a couple pigeons that had landed nearby. “I am ready to be taken back to my humble abode, Ms. Swan. If you would so oblige.” At this remark he bowed so low that he lost his balance and sent both of them sprawling onto the grass of the front lawn, him on top of her, his face close to hers. His body pressed against hers, the heat enveloping her like a cocoon against the chill of the morning. They lay there a couple moments, their breath mingling, their eyes locked on each other. Slowly, Killian eased himself off of her and helped her to her feet. He carefully brushed the grass from her back before brushing it off his arms. They stood there in silence, feeling the spark of energy that had passed between them.  
“What did you eat before you came out?” Emma asked without looking at him. “Your breath smelled fruity.”  
“I snatched up a batch of Jell-O before I left. I had never known what it was before I came to this place. I’ve taken a liking to it.” A heart-bursting smile broke over his face, mirth shone in his eyes while he looked at Emma. “You know what I think?”  
“What?” Emma asked, afraid that she already knew what he was going to say, but not wanting to be rude by ignoring his question. So she stood there and braced herself for what was to come. He took a deep breath before saying, “I think I should find a cool attachment for my nub. Something that will draw attention and make little kids go, ‘Oh cool! Mommy, I want one!’ What do you think?”  
Emma hoped he didn’t hear her sigh of relief. The unexpectedness of his comment made her let out a good, hearty laugh. “Yeah, why not a hook? You could be Captain Hook for Halloween and scare all the kids. Haha!”  
The thoughtful look on his face made her pause. “You’re not really considering that are you??”  
“It is a good idea… I could find a local metalworker and have him make me one. Or I could make one out of spare car parts that I have. So many possibilities…”  
While they walked to her Bug, Killian and Emma prattled on about various appendages that could be useful for his profession: a screwdriver, a magnet, a wrench; and Emma’s personal favorite, a beer bottle holder for those particularly hot days in the summer.

Man, she hadn’t had this much fun in ages.

\---

Killian’s apartment was in a building that overlooked the river, the Statue of Liberty serving as a symbolic backdrop to the small, handsome apartment. As soon as Emma crossed the threshold, the scent of a calm sea breeze filled her nostrils; along with the lingering smell of burnt pizza. She stifled a laugh at the thought of Killian in an apron running around the tiny kitchen as smoke billowed out of the oven door. She hung her coat up and surveyed the floor plan before her. A loveseat couch occupied the middle of the hardwood-floored living area, pillows neatly stacked on either arm. A flat-screen TV sat atop a low coffee-table with chords hanging down from the back of it like hair. To her immediate left a doorway led to a neatly-kept kitchen with seashell-white tiles. The walls of the apartment were a light green-blue hue; the color of the crystal-clear water surrounding a coral reef. A small wooden ship occupied a night-stand, her hull adorned with blue and yellow stripes. Emma leaned closer to read the ship’s name: The Jewel of the Realm.  
“That was my great-great-grandfather’s ship,” Killian explained. “He was a member of His Majesty’s Navy; and was first lieutenant to his brother, Liam. An incident occurred where Liam was poisoned and died in his brother’s arms. First Lieutenant Jones then took charge, and for some reasons unknown, became a pirate, looting and destroying ships of the British Navy. In revolt against the crown, he claimed full ownership of the Jewel, and renamed her The Jolly Roger. My brother and I were named after them, in honor of their devotion to family before the crown.”  
“And you and your brother followed in their footsteps, I take it? Is your brother still in the navy or was he discharged like you?” Emma watched as Killian’s jaw clenched at the second question.  
“Yes, we did join the navy together. We were inseparable. But, you know the saying ‘those who fail to learn history are doomed to repeat it’? Well, my brother was killed in action. A submarine launched a torpedo at our battleship, and my brother was hit by the shrapnel. He and I were both covered in blood, most of it his and other members of our crew. I barely had a scratch. I tried my best to stop the bleeding, but Liam was too far gone. He died in my arms just as our great-great-grandfather had done in his brother’s. Liam was a good man, the better of the two of us. After his death, I couldn’t handle myself. I got into frequent fights, and had anxiety fits often. I was honorably discharged a year later. Sometimes I find myself wishing it was me who had been hit, and not Liam. But you can’t change fate. You just…can’t…”  
While Killian had been talking, Emma had been studying the wooden ship, her back to Killian. Now she turned around to find him standing a distance away from her, tears quietly rolling down his cheeks, his eyes staring at her with the look of a lost and abused puppy. Before she knew it, she had crossed the distance between them and was cradling his head to her chest. She felt his tears soaking her sweater, his hair tickling her chin. It took all her strength to not kiss the top of his head; not whisper in his ear, “It’ll be okay”; not bring his face to hers and kiss away the tears. It hurt her to see him this way, a damaged man crying his heart out in front of a complete stranger. She felt like she should blame his openness on the meds, but she couldn’t bring herself to make excuses, not when she was the only one there for him, to help him with this pain. She felt like they understood each other, that they both wanted the same thing: someone to help them cope.  
She felt him shift against her and relax, his breath warm and fruity. She led him to the loveseat where they sat close together, his head still on her chest and her hand absently rubbing his back; much like she did when comforting Henry after he had a nightmare. His left arm was resting on her thigh with his right hand holding it close to the nub. Both were dangerously close to the gap between her legs, making Emma’s stomach flutter. She knew she shouldn’t want him, but she was drawn to him and this level of intimacy wasn’t enough for her. She slowly slipped her engagement ring off and dropped it in her purse that was on the floor. She drew her hands up to his face and, taking a deep breath, made him face her. His eyes were red from crying, but his tears had stopped. A familiar spark lit in his eye; the same one she had seen earlier that day when they had fallen together on the front lawn of the hospital. She began to kiss his cheeks, softly, tenderly, before finding his lips with hers. The first kiss was brief, both unsure of where this was going.  
“Swan, I –“  
“Shh, Killian,” Emma broke him off, giving him a longer second kiss. She felt his hand graze her inner thigh before coming to rest on her hip. She deepened the kiss, teasing him with her tongue sliding across his lower lip. She moved so her hips were under his, his chest resting on top of hers. His hand was rough as it moved along her left side to the center of her back and undid her bra clasp. Emma arched at the heat of his touch, causing their hips to come together, feeling him hard beneath his dark jeans. She felt like she wanted this, like she wanted HIM. She moved her hands beneath his shirt, feeling the raised scar tissue that crisscrossed his back. Immediately she began to explore them, memorizing their shapes and contours, how their roughness clashed with the smoothness of his skin and muscles. Slowly she guided his shirt up and over his head, only to find more scars across his chest, peeking out from behind the hair that trailed down his stomach and disappeared into his jeans. Her eyes wide with wonder, caught Killian’s saddened gaze. Right then she knew. She knew the pain and suffering he had been through, the hurt, the heartbreak.  
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but it was Killian’s turn to silence her with a kiss. His lips were warm, salty like the sea and as soft as an ocean breeze. His hands crept down to the waistline of her jeans, slowing working to undo her belt, button, and zipper. Emma found her hands doing the same to him before slipping her hand into his pants, feeling him through his boxers. She began to slowly message him, causing him to release a pleased groan into their kiss. He rocked his hips into her hand, wanting the friction, wanting more than just her hand around him.  
Quickly, without much ceremony, both Emma and Killian pulled off their jeans, and she her sweater. They lay there together on the loveseat in their underwear, hands and mouths exploring every inch of the other’s body. Killian’s hand came to rest between Emma’s legs, fingers slowly drawing circles around her wet clit. Emma groaned with pleasure, wanting the release she knew he would give her. His circles gradually became faster, his ragged breathing tickling her nipple as he played with it with his mouth. In one swift movement, his fingers pushed aside her underwear and were in her, Killian drawing them in and out slowly.  
Emma couldn’t take it anymore. She would come soon, and she wanted him inside her when it happened. She felt his breath hitch as she pulled down his boxers, his hot length resting against her thigh. Killian looked into her eyes, his dark with desire and want. Removing his fingers from her center, he gently pulled her underwear down to her knees, eyes locked on hers as he did so. She ached for him, her core almost hurting from her being on the edge with no release. Killian shifted so his tip was aligned with her center. He thrust into her with such force that a cry escaped her lips from the immense power she felt. He was stronger than she could ever have imagined, bigger than anything she thought possible. He slowly rocked within her, at a rhythm and pace she quickly picked up on. She dug her nails into his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, hoping for a better angle, for more friction.  
She was on the edge, and so was he. She came first, her walls constricting him until he fell over with her. He filled her with a warmth so great, it flooded her body and her skin burned with the heat. After they brought each other down from their orgasms, they lay there panting. His head was resting on her chest; her faced buried in his sweaty mop of hair.  
“That was…” Killian began, breathless from the experience, his mind dulled from the ecstasy that he had just felt.  
“Something that should never happen again,” Emma finished for him. She knew she had screwed up. Big time. She was ENGAGED. And she had just had sex with the most beautiful being on two legs. Her mind was swimming as she moved to get off the couch, pushing Killian away from her. She kept her eyes downcast, hoping to avoid the look of confusion and hurt she knew would be on Killian’s face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him begin to put his pants on, so she decided to steal a look at his face. What she saw she wasn’t expecting. Even though he was dressing, he was still watching her with fascination, awe, but most importantly, understanding. It was like he knew she had screwed up. It was like he knew this shouldn’t have happened. That look was what killed her. The fact that he could know what she was feeling and understand broke her. She began to cry, tears coursing down her face, sobs wracking her body. She felt him kneel beside her and wrap his arm around her. He didn’t say a word, just let her cry.  
“Killian, whatever shall I do?”

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End file.
